


Dominion

by MarkoftheAsphodel



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Canon Divergence, F/M, Mistakes were made, Pottery Barn Rule
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-02-09 09:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12884580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarkoftheAsphodel/pseuds/MarkoftheAsphodel
Summary: She wanted to avenge her brother's execution. He wanted to try his hand at making political theory a reality. Lachesis and Finn embark on an act of rebellion that sends the fortunes of Jugdral in a slightly different direction than they were "supposed" to go. FE4 canon divergence AU.





	1. The Hand and the Will

**Author's Note:**

> I gleaned some tidbits of world-building from various sources ranging from the FE4 manga adaptations to the Treasure artbook, based mostly on what I liked for this particular 'fic verse. So if some particular detail seems intriguing or just plain weird, feel free to ask whether it was invented or borrowed for the occasion.
> 
> Also, just so it's clear, from their given ages in FE5 and the developers' notes, Finn and Lachesis would be about seventeen by Chapter Three, which in Jugdral is definitely old enough to get married in both storyline and gameplay.

_Agusty  
Year 1 of Grannvale's occupation_

My Dearest Friend,

As I wrote in my previous letter, the situation here in Agustria offers fascinating parallels to the structure of the Manster District and, perhaps, gives illumination as to how our Lord Quan's dream might be established. The Lords of Nordion, Heirhein, Anphony, and Mackily existed for generations under the benevolent aegis of a High King governing from the dominion's capital of Agusty-- at least until King Chagall resorted to patricide and the other lords save Eldigan of Nordion reacted as though some malign spell had them all in its grip. Now the line of Heirhein is extinct, the house of Anphony reduced to several minor claimants, and Mackily has the nephew of its late lord pressing his claims to the occupation government, which has thus far received him without sympathy.

Were Lord Eldigan to take command of the intrigue swirling around him and lead his Cross Knights out of Fort Silvail against Chagall's new court at Madino, I've no doubt that Agustria would have in short order the High King it deserves. You can see, I hope, the seeds of our lord's own opportunity in the oft-reported weakness of Alster, corruption in Manster, the succession crisis in Connaught, and the barbaric acts of the “High King” of the Thracians. It is really not so difficult a thing to reshape a kingdom as one desires... if one only does _desire_ , as our lord Quan surely does. ~~Lord Eldigan does not permit himself~~

I shall write again shortly, for these are fascinating times.

Ever Yours,  
Finn

-x-

"I must have the courage to do what my lord brother could not." Fresh tears glistened on her face in the flickering torchlight, but the tremor in her voice seemed borne of rage and not grief or fear. "Sigurd cannot be my champion here."

"No, of course not."

Finn knew that wellspring of trust had been poisoned by both Chagall's calumny and the all-too-real misdeeds of Grannvale's occupying forces. Lachesis for certain must take another champion in her bid to undo Chagall.

"Lord Quan?" he offered, because it would be fitting indeed to have one of Lord Eldigan's dearest friends avenge him.

"He's chasing mercenaries through the woods."

Finn did not understand, at first, why she sought to remove his glove.

"My will, your hand," she said, pressing her sunburnt lips to the tips of his fingers, splashing them with warm tears that in the red light might almost have been fresh blood, and then Finn understood completely.

-x-

"Die and stay dead," Finn said under his breath to the heap of fabric crumpled now on a strip of lush carpet wrought with gay birds and flowers. "Lord Eldigan is not here to save you from justice this time."

None of the onlookers cheered his victory. They would've cheered Eldigan and might've cheered for one of his Cross Knights but they all knew the knight that Princess Lachesis brought in with her was a foreigner, just as they sensed the horseman guarding her back was a hired sword. This improbable trio that interrupted Chagall's evening entertainments wouldn't have looked much like the avenging hand of justice to Silvail's courtiers.

Finn didn't care a great deal about the skeptical witnesses. His attention was fixed on the broad silver blade, edged with his own blood, that had fallen from Chagall's hand. As he dismounted his destrier Finn could feel every finger's worth of difference in height between this beast and his reliable courser, but Lachesis insisted he barge into Fort Silvail on the destrier even if Finn didn't trust it not to take a bite out of his neck as he bent to retrieve the silver blade. Heedless of the burning sensation down his side and the knot of pain beneath his right shoulder that throbbed with every step, Finn mounted the stairs to the royal dais before which King Chagall was forced into his last stand. He placed the blade upon the velvet footrest at the base of the throne and stood beside it, holding the bloodied lance like a scepter instead of a weapon.

"Good people of Silvail. Chagall, tyrant and usurper, is dead by my hand. Thanks to his machinations, King Eldigan the true heir of the Crusaders' will and the divine Mystletainn is likewise no more."

Where was Lachesis? Finn paused in his rehearsed speech to locate her-- emerging from the shadows now with Beowolf watching her back, decked in carmine and gold and white armor. She moved slow as one in water, her dark eyes as clouded like a sleepwalker's, yet she remained flawless in her dignity as she took her place upon the throne of the High Kings of Agustria.

"This is Eldigan the Lionheart's sister, the princess Lachesis, a true descendant of the crusader lineage. She is your rightful queen... and my consort."

There was no second throne on the dais beside that of the High Kings, as Chagall had no queen to share in his misrule. Finn kept a hand on the back of the throne as he spoke but then decided to "claim" it any way he must and so perched awkwardly on its massive gilded arm, supporting himself with the butt of his lance.

One of the surviving Cross Knights sent up the first cheer, and Beowolf added his voice a heartbeat later, and at this cue the court of Silvail responded with a round of acclaim in which some cheers sounded hearty but others all too hollow. If they'd all grown weary of the murder of kings, then Finn could hardly blame them.

-x-

The conquerors of Silvail hardly enjoyed untroubled sleep in their borrowed bed. Finn woke with a start, reached for Lachesis in the dark and found nothing there to reassure him. Not her warm shoulder or the fall of her hair, not even her scent. Sitting up made him nauseated, as the gash Chagall'd given him would require several more healings to mend fully. Finn was alone in the dark in a strange place with perspiration slick down his back and a strong desire to be sick over the edge of the bed. 

"Beowolf," he called out to the mercenary, whom they’d stationed at the door so as not to be stabbed in their bed the very first night. "Where has Lachesis gone?"

"The princess went down to spend some time with what's left of her brother," the other replied as he crept into the royal bedchamber with surprisingly little sound.

"Oh," said Finn. He should've guessed that Lachesis couldn't wait until morning to mourn Eldigan. Mourning. Morning. The words collided in his head and it made him laugh a little to himself, which made everything hurt again and then he truly wanted to be sick.

"You sure about this?" said Beowolf.

"About what?" replied Finn as he managed to tamp down on his laughter.

It was past time to be sure of their course, given they'd already infiltrated a castle and committed regicide.

"Just because you killed a king it don't make you a king. Not the right sort of king, anyway."

This warning managed to engage the parts of Finn's mind that he was most comfortable exercising, so even under these bizarre circumstances he could lay out the sober argument for why he was doing what he was doing.

"I see no option besides Lachesis taking the throne with me at her side. The rightful heir of the Black Knight's line is all of three years old. No kingdom from the time of the Crusaders has attempted to crown a child as sovereign lord."

"There was that mess in Grannvale some years back, likely before your time, where the duke did himself in after his duchess ran off. Left behind a boy aged 'bout seven years, if that. A couple of his uncles tried keeping the high ducal seat warm for him 'til he came of age. You can imagine where they both ended up by the time he was old enough to buy everyone a round at the tavern."

"I understand," said Finn.

"Do you?" Beowolf's narrowed eyes caught the moonlight.

"Yes."

Finn could claim he understood because he was seventeen, because he'd spent his formative years day-dreaming about dismantling the states of Northern Thracia for the sake of Lord Quan's pre-eminence, because he knew himself to be of far less import than Ares and Lachesis _and_ because Ares wouldn't be of age for a dozen years anyway. He had, in truth, put a great deal of consideration into the astonishingly reckless thing that he and Lachesis had done-- and the way it was likely to end-- as well as his glorified schoolboy's mind would let him consider it and Finn was satisfied with the answer. He was all of seventeen and book-clever and capable of some strange feats on the battlefield and he'd just charged into Agustria's last unconquered fortress and killed its High King.

"Good enough," said Beowolf, and it seemed to Finn that the mercenary was at least reasonably convinced by him. "Get back to sleep then... Your Highness. The rest of your troubles can wait until daybreak."

-x-

Finn couldn't stay abed until daybreak thanks to Lachesis and her absence. As he passed from the bedchamber down to the Great Hall he acquired a parade of diverse servants at his back and said parade came to a halt when Finn caught sight of Lachesis draped across the coffin of her lord brother. Somewhere she'd found a mourning dress, for her tiny figure was swathed not in the bright carmine she wore on the battlefield but deepest black, the level of mourning that became not a young sister but a forlorn widow.

"Has she eaten?" Finn said, to distract himself from his own discomfort over his wife's questionable taste.

"Ah, milord," said one of the servants in his wake, a middle-aged woman who had the look of a nurse or a governess. She dipped down in a proper curtsey before him. "She hasn't yet, but we've some things going in the kitchen now that should tempt her. I took care of the Princess when she was a child here and I do know her fancies, so I'll see to it she's cared for now in her time of grief."

"Ah, thank you..." He hadn't the faintest idea as to the servant's name.

"Philippa. Her Highness did call me Pippa at the time, milord."

"Philippa," echoed Finn. He wasn't about to call her Pippa.

He stood watching Lachesis in her dramatic grief for several moments, then departed with most of the servants trailing his every step. Finn realized before he'd gotten very far that unless Lord Quan or Lord Sigurd showed up and managed to un-do everything he and Lachesis had done in the past twelve hours that he was never going to be able to go his own way through the castle again. That was part of what he'd agreed to by becoming the avenging hand of Lachesis, and in truth it would've been a warning sign if the servants weren't doing their best to fulfill their individual roles toward the Agustrian crown.

A court in turmoil must fall back upon well-practiced etiquette to function just as a soldier must fall back upon his training to survive a chaotic battle. Finn, by virtue of his very recent marriage to the princess who was now the de jure queen of the land, thereby ascended in one stroke from a knight to a king rather like a gaming piece. That his marriage to Lachesis was a bit of a hole-and-corner affair, presided over by a high priestess with no jurisdiction and witnessed by a thief and a sellsword, with the explicit blessing of neither his liege lord nor hers, was perhaps a technical barrier, but then again he'd killed Chagall when no one else would.

The precedent for claiming Agustria was as solid as the practice of not investing sovereign power in a child too young for reason-- at the close of the Crusades, blessed Nova's own consort had been raised from comrade-at-arms to co-ruler of her kingdom. Then again, Crusader Nova's consort had ended up dangling from the end of her Earth Lance.

As Finn had claimed to Beowolf, he was _quite_ certain of what he'd gotten himself into.

-x-

Lachesis was vaguely aware of her husband's arrival and departure amid the bustle in the Great Hall as servants hung black crepe on the walls and set up sprays of flowers. Some time after Finn left-- perhaps a quarter of an hour, perhaps three hours entire-- Lachesis realized the thick scent of late-summer lilies was turning her stomach.

"Pippa..."

And her old nurse was there in a flash, just as she'd always been when Lachesis was the secret princess of Silvail, kept from the glamor and decadence of the Agustrian courts.

"Come, on, poppet. We don't want you getting faint."

Pippa brought her a tea-tray filled with the things she used to love, golden-pale tea with a splash of cream, pink macarons filled with rose jam and red ones filled with poppy jam. After the first sip of tea Lachesis decided she was ravenous; she ate until she made herself sick and then Pippa had to hold a silver bowl up while all the pink sugar and crushed flowers came back in a sour torrent.

"Behold your new queen, Agustria," Lachesis said to herself as she waited for Pippa to come back with a goblet of fresh water. In some perverse way she was pleased with herself, lolling against her brother's coffin in someone else's black dress and what remained of the Crown Jewels, wrapped in a sickly cloud of lily fragrance and vomit.

Why shouldn't she be pleased? Chagall was dead, which made everything almost tolerable. Her first order as queen was to have his corpse flung out into the courtyard for the benefit of the crows.

-x-

Finn asked to be taken to the office of the king, or the chamberlain, or whomever in the fortress of Silvail might have custody of the Great Seal and other such items. The steward, a small man in his middle years, led Finn to a cramped and very untidy office, though the clutter was understandable given everything had passed from Agusty to Madino to Silvail in the course of a year. Though the Great Seal rested upon a small cushion and a bronze statuette of the Black Knight stood on the desk, Finn had his doubts that Chagall ever used the room personally until the steward Phinneas showed him the mess of paperwork that implicated Chagall directly in many things of interest to Finn. He spent at least an hour reading through the correspondence that Chagall kept with King Travant, hoping to find some blatant evidence that Chagall contracted with Thracian mercenaries specifically with an eye towards the demise of Finn's own liege lord. It would be a good thing to have in his pocket should Lord Quan prove upset with him over taking Silvail. 

"Your Highness, a delegation of merchants wishes to speak with you,” said Phinneas.

"Is it customary to meet with them?" Finn asked without looking up from Travant's cryptic handwriting. He'd been the keeper of Lord Quan's appointment book, and after a year in Verdane and another in Agustria, Finn knew well the danger of allowing petitioners to meet with new rulers in ways not according to the custom.

"It is, Your Highness. King Imca of blessed memory met often with this delegation."

Good enough, Finn decided, and he put down the paper trail on Travant's activities and let Phinneas lead him to the Presence Chamber where the merchants awaited him. The Presence Chamber held a small canopied throne and Finn realized with Lachesis elsewhere, it was entirely his.

"Your Highness, I am Ansel, the present first among equals in the League of Madino," said the most finely-dressed of the men bowing before him.

The words might have been nothing to the average seventeen-year-old knight in foreign lands, but Finn knew from his lessons on Leonster's key trading partners that the League of Madino consisted of wealthy merchants based in that pirate-plagued port city who'd banded together a generation before to protect their interests. Said interests involved the import of many fine goods from Leonster, and so Finn felt an immediate and genuine desire to have a rapport with Ansel and his companions.

"I am pleased to have made your acquaintance on the first day of our reign," said Finn, knowing full well he was piecing together something stilted out of phrases a sovereign ought to say and not acting much as _true_ royalty did. No one in the room was under any illusion they were dealing with someone of King Eldigan's caliber. "Agustria has been a most cordial trading partner of my native land and I have you gentlemen to thank for it." 

"We are grateful that a kinsman of our sweet Queen Grainne has taken an interest in the welfare of Agustria,” said Ansel, who was still on his knees.

“By marriage only,” Finn replied, for Grainne’s aunt had become his grandfather’s second wife and in truth he didn't know her very well. Finding Eldigan's widow and child and relocating them to Silvail was on his list of immediate tasks and he hoped she wasn't going to hate him or Lachesis now.

“We are pleased to deepen our ties to Queen Grainne’s people," amended Ansel.

They were mostly pleased he wasn’t Grannvalean. This did not need to be stated, much less explained. Yet Finn suspected the praise for Leonster wasn't entirely feigned; Finn knew well the wealth that the skilled artisans of Northern Thracia generated for Leonster and Agustria alike helped account for the gold chains and brocade robes of the League's representatives. As he looked over their robes and insignia, Finn recognized the motifs used by various guilds. Ansel, he decided, must have made his fortune in Manster porcelain. The merchant in the corner with flowing gray hair had some kind of badge from the carpenters' guild and possibly sold fine furniture, and Finn was certain the youngest of the merchants had something to do with the textile guilds.

"Be at ease, gentlemen," said Finn, who was tired of looking at the tops of their heads. Should he have called them 'friends'? A born ruler like Lord Sigurd might've called these men 'friends' and not been diminished in their eyes by it. 

Ansel and his six companions had quite a long list of concerns for their new sovereigns, ranging from the latest spate of pirate raids in Madino to certain taxes levied by the occupation government in Agusty. It was far too much to absorb in a single morning and Finn asked for the petitions in writing so he could go over it all with Lachesis once they'd taken stock of the damage Chagall wrought to the treasury. Sharing rule with Lachesis was quite convenient to moments like these, Finn decided, as it allowed him not to answer on the spot.

"We understand that the strength of a kingdom is bound to the health and prosperity of its merchants and artisans," said Finn, for this was something he'd heard often from King Calf back home. "The queen and I hope that our continued close friendship with the court of Leonster will allow for the uninterrupted flow of tapestries, porcelain, and the other goods that enrich the lives of Agustrians, and we will endeavor to maintain the dominion's abundance."

And that ended the meeting. Finn remained rigid on the throne as Phinneas escorted the delegation out of the Presence Chamber. He was feeling light-headed and sore and the perspiration was dripping down his back again but he'd acquired a toe-hold of authority with these men in that he'd showed himself capable of grasping that the kingdom faced issues that could not be solved with his lance.

"Phinneas, if there are no other petitioners I'd like to return to the office..."

"Are all young nobles of Leonster so well-versed in trade?” asked the steward.

"Phinneas, were I merely representative of the young nobles of Leonster I would not be here."

He wouldn't have said it a year ago, but in Agustria he'd had the chance to spread his wings and Finn was now beginning to grasp what Quan meant when he called Finn the most promising of his generation. Though for certain he hadn’t expected his destiny to be bound up in regicide…

Finn sighed as he looked over the administrative chaos of what remained of the dominion. It was his to sort out now, wasn’t it? That trove of information relating to King Travant was so tempting, but he did have some letters to write...

-x-

My Dearest Friend,

It might surprise you to learn that time spent paying attention to imports and exports in the lecture hall was not, in fact, time better spent at the quintain. I am also thinking fondly now of the harvest holidays back home, where the king and queen open the castle to the common folk and the woodworkers and weavers jostle elbows with dukes and barons. It is a lovely tradition and one that, I hope, shall take root in the land of Agustria in the very near future.

You would certainly be surprised by what's transpired in the last twenty-four hours.

Ever Yours,  
Finn (Lord of the Dominion of Agustria, by right of his wife)

**To Be Continued... in the next chapter, Quan and Ethlyn find out what the kids have been up to**


	2. Two Cubs in the Menagerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quan and Ethlyn reach Silvail and take stock of the situation there... and what it'll mean for their own situation.

Ethlyn wasn’t panicking as she and Quan rode up the sandy path toward Silvail but that was mostly because Ethlyn wasn’t much inclined to panic. Lachesis dashing off in the night to deal with Chagall with only Finn and Beowolf assisting her was definitely high up on the list of things that could go very wrong, and yet so far Ethlyn didn’t feel the sense of impending doom that might drive to her, say, present Quan with Gae Bolg.

Quan likewise showed his usual composure; they were riding hard enough to leave their allies behind a good distance but not hard enough to tire the horses before the tops of Silvail’s towers came into sight. Silvail sat on a high plateau by the northwestern coast, protected by both bluffs and a river, an ideal place to defend rather than attack. This made Ethlyn wonder if a small raiding party wasn’t truly the best way they all could’ve gone about facing Chagall.

“That’s the flag of Nordion,” said Quan as they drew up on a ridge. “Either Chagall’s clever enough to set a trap, which he’s not, or…”

Given what Chagall managed to wreak so far without being clever that reassured Ethlyn little but it did seem a hopeful sign that Eldigan had managed to subdue his wretch of a lord. As they reached the gates of Silvail and found Beowolf on guard at the portcullis, relief and joy blossomed inside Ethlyn.

“Your Highnesses,” said Beowolf. “Welcome to the court of Queen Lachesis.”

As Ethlyn and Quan looked to one another, Ethlyn felt this was the rare time that Quan looked unbalanced by a turn of events. _Queen Lachesis_?

Sure enough, they found her upon Chagall’s throne, wearing a sweeping sable gown that made her look like a doll wrought of ivory and gold. Her face was painted into a fierce mask but she seemed weighed down by heavy and outdated jewelry set with pearls and rubies and Ethlyn felt a stab of pity over seeing bracelets like gilded manacles on her tiny wrists.

“Where is Eldigan?” asked Quan, for the moment was so strange that his diplomatic skills deserted him.

“Slain,” came the answer from the throne. “The final victim of one whose reign was born in blood and ended in blood.”

Ethlyn felt that she and Quan froze together, took a half step backward together, exchanged another look wherein his stunned eyes surely mirrored her own.

“Eldigan is dead?” It sounded so unlike Quan when his voice trembled.

Lachesis did not respond at first. Her dark eyes seemed to fix on nothing, and as she drew deep breaths from her throne, the ruby in the hollow of her throat looked like welling blood.

Beowolf supplied the answer from behind them.

“Chagall had his head struck off before we got here, Your Highnesses. Lord Finn extracted that debt from Chagall in blood, as Her Highness there says, but it was too late to save Lord Eldigan.”

And Ethlyn remembered her own thoughts of not an hour before that Chagall did not need to be clever to land a devastating blow. She reached for Quan’s arm, to steady him against the shock of losing a dear friend, but Quan’s thoughts already turned elsewhere.

“And where is Finn?”

“Taking command of the treasury here and whatever else,” came Beowolf’s reply.

When Quan looked into her eyes a third time, Ethlyn could tell he no longer had any idea how to reply.

-x-

A little man who announced himself the castle steward escorted Quan to the chamberlain’s office that Finn had seized on taking Silvail. Quan thus found his former squire in a typical pose, bent over a desk and juggling papers.

“Finn, I believe you’ll need to fill in some details for me. Lachesis wasn’t much for talking.”

"Lord Quan! I am so relieved to see you—" 

In that moment, he looked entirely a squire dealing with a problem over his pay grade. But then Quan witnessed the struggle upon Finn’s upturned face as he put on a cooler expression as though donning a mask. 

"Prince Quan, welcome to the capital of liberated Agustria.”

“Yes,” Quan said as he leaned upon the door-frame, “Beowolf did tell me that the princess you wed without my permission— though, to be certain, with my fond blessing— is now calling herself the queen. I suppose I am suddenly out one very promising knight.”

And Finn, whose color often betrayed his feelings when all else was under control, grew decidedly pink. He began to shuffle papers rapidly.

“Jamke and Lewyn should be along by mid-day tomorrow,” said Quan. “I fear we left them in the dust in our race to get here.”

"It is appropriate to have such illustrious guests to bear witness to our coronation,” said Finn tonelessly.

“Yes, that’ll be an event,” said Quan. He was glad to be able to leave the niceties of that to Ethlyn.

“I think Chagall was mad,” said Finn in his normal voice. “He wasn’t paying creditors but spent a terrible sum on food for the lions just in the last month— there are two lion cubs in the menagerie here, did you know that?

“He may well have been mad. Did he die well?”

“No,” replied Finn, though he so often reduced the spectacle of life and death to one-syllable words that Quan could wrest a greater meaning from it. “I’ve collected the everything detailing King Travant’s contract with Chagall, which includes a great many letters from King Travant. He’s departed, so it’s not Agustria’s business anymore what dealings he had with Chagall, but I thought you might want them.”

“I do indeed. Thank you.” Quan blinked, for he was just beginning to sense what losing Finn to Agustria was going to cost him. He thrust the packet of correspondence into his coat.

A strange conversation indeed unfolded, for Finn clearly wished to give a mission briefing to his lord, but at the same time he recalled every few minutes that he was technically the conquering lord of this fortress, and it was almost amusing to watch him grapple with his own position as Finn disclosed his plans for the immediate future… including recalling Queen Grainne and little Prince Ares.

“So we’ve a letter in Eldigan’s own hand, assuring Prince Ares of his friendship with Lord Sigurd and his lack of any ill-will toward Sigurd specifically even if he can’t justify the conduct of Grannvale, yet making it quite clear Agustria cannot afford another war at the present. It’s meant for Ares but I expect Queen Grainne to read it and hopefully take it to heart. I understand she’s not pleased with any of us right now.”

“That’s all to the good, but… Finn, why is this letter meant for Ares not sealed?”

“You did teach me how to counterfeit a signature…” The color rose again in Finn’s cheeks.

“I fear I did teach you entirely too well,” said Quan, and he passed a hand across his face, hoping his own expression didn’t say too much. “I daresay Agustria does not know what awaits it.”

-x-

Ethlyn felt she by far had the more difficult task that first evening; Quan and Finn were perfectly happy to discuss affairs of state, but Lachesis was of a mind to do nothing beyond dress the part of the queen and be inconsolable. Ethlyn had to conspire with an aged nursemaid to get some supper into Lachesis, and even then they only succeeded into getting some bread, cheese, and, and watered-down wine into the new queen because she was thinking of something beyond herself.

“I don’t want to starve the baby. He’s making me sick enough as it is,” said Lachesis.

“How… how long has it been?” Ethlyn sputtered. Though this did give some clarity to why Lachesis and Finn married in such haste…

“Weeks,” said Lachesis as she tore into the bread. “I hadn’t said anything to anyone yet.”

“Well, you don’t always know for sure that early on,” Ethlyn said by way of cautioning her. If Lachesis were mistaken in this, she might soon face a disappointment made doubly harsh in the wake of Eldigan’s death. “It’s best not say a word or even get your hopes up for three months, even four…”

“I know it’s real. I know it’s a boy… I’ve had dreams.” Lachesis wadded bits of torn bread around pieces of cheese like a child playing with supper. “I hope he looks like Eldigan.”

“Lachesis…” Ethlyn didn’t really even know where to begin as she turned over the extraordinary predicament the younger woman was in. Newly-married, expecting, bereaved, and attempting to lead a kingdom three-quarters under foreign occupation? “Remember we are friends and here to help you with whatever you need— not just with coronations and funerals. You’re going to need friends and you’re going to need allies. You have them. We’re not going to forget about you just because Eldigan’s gone and Chagall’s not a problem anymore.”

Lachesis put the ball of mashed bread and cheese down onto her plate.

“Thank you,” she said, though her voice was rough and the paint on her face made it seem almost hard in the torchlight.

And Ethlyn look the little new queen by the hand, squeezing her fingers in affection as she wondered might be done about those terrible old-fashioned jewels before the coronation.

**To Be Continued**


	3. Honored Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crusader descendants gather at Silvail to lay Eldigan to rest, but little Prince Ares is living proof his legacy will be a prickly one.

Lewyn expected a bad scene when he and Jamke finally stumbled into the fortress of Silvail. He wasn’t expecting to have random Agustrian guards welcoming them both as honored guests— _invited_ guests, at that. Lewyn and Jamke sure hadn’t received any summons to the Agustrian court while they were zig-zagging around trees and evading wyvern riders. Something funny was up, and from the way it looked like the badge of Chagall’s household had been ripped right out of everyone’s uniform it all smelled like regime change to Lewyn.

“So that’s it, then. A state funeral and a coronation,” said Jamke once they’d been given the lowdown by Quan and then stabled in an antechamber with some wine and snacks. “With us as honored guests… and witnesses.”

Jamke, of course, hadn’t been allowed his own coronation as the sovereign lord of Verdane, even though that’s what he was by right. But then again, when the Grannvale host told him no, Jamke hadn’t pressed his case to his own birthright.

“It’s a bold move. I have to give them credit,” said Lewyn. He drummed his fingers on a windowsill, wishing the Agustrian servants hadn’t been so eager to whisk away the meager baggage the foreign princes carried. This madhouse looked like the ideal place to slouch around playing the lute. “Those who crave authority have a right to take it, and they did.”

He was deliberately vague on who “they” were as he kind of suspected this was one of Quan’s schemes, but it didn’t go to say things like that out loud, did it?

The windowsill left grime on his fingertips. Lewyn wiped it on his trousers and poured himself a glass of the wine. 

“Cheers, my fellow royal heir. Princely cousin. Whatever we are to one another.”

Jamke only shook his head. Wasn’t a drinking man. Especially not prone to drinking in madhouses.

-x-

The Crown Prince of Leonster and his wife. The Prince of Silesse. The Prince of Verdane. And, of course, the Queen Dowager of Nordion and her son, now Crown Prince of Agustria itself.

That was a respectable enough gathering of witnesses for the dawn of the new Agustria… if they could all be obtained. As soon as they’d seized Silvail, Lachesis and Finn directed the remnants of the Cross Knights to ride westward in hopes of securing the persons of Queen Grainne and her son. Both the obsequies for King Eldigan (for he was granted formally in death the title he’d not claimed in life) and the coronation were suspended until the Nordions could be found, which made each day that passed beneath the now-crowded roof of Silvail even more unbearably tense than it would’ve been otherwise. 

It’d been three days since Prince Jamke and Prince Lewyn’s arrival, and Finn was taking breakfast alone because Lachesis decided to hold vigil over Eldigan’s coffin again. Breakfast in Agustria was a joyless affair anyway, by Finn’s standards— two bread rolls with butter and jam was considered a fine way to start the day, though Finn did get a boiled egg when he asked for one. A request for sausages or bacon or something more substantial than airy brioche was met with “Your Highness, that is not the custom” and that was the end of _that_. 

So it was a somewhat peevish and jittery young regicide who received the news, in the middle of his unloved breakfast, that Queen Grainne and her son had been safely conveyed to Silvail.

-x-

The reunion with Ares went about as Finn expected; the heir to Mystletainn was flushed, tearful, and extremely loud in his displeasure on being, as Ares described it, _kidnapped_. Ares had some other strong words in his vocabulary, including _murder_ and _scoundrel_. The little prince subsided only when caught in the arms of a knight he knew from Eldigan’s household, and from that position of safety he glared with red-tinted eyes in Finn’s direction. Finn, in no position to play the doting uncle (he didn’t even know Ares particularly well), simply pretended it wasn’t happening and turned his attention toward Grainne, who seemed to have some trouble getting out of the carriage.

All the same, the dozen years it would take Ares to achieve his majority didn’t seem that great a span to Finn when he was caught in that glare.

“Ah… Your Majesty. _Cousin_!”

As Grainne swooned against him, Finn almost hoped it was part of the performance. He’d known Queen Grainne to be frail and that Lachesis served as the chatelaine of Nordion despite her brother’s marriage, but the pain that the mere act of standing upright had etched on her face went beyond his worst expectations.

“She seemed in the bloom of health on leaving Leonster,” he said to Phinneas, who’d materialized at his elbow during the chaotic arrival of the Nordions.

If life in Agustria did something terrible to Easterners, he’d prefer to avoid it. Especially if it was caused by their diet.

“Her Ladyship’s not been well since the birth of her son and is known to spend time at spring-water resorts with claims of helping ladies with their troubles,” said the steward. “Given the efficacy of those resorts, there was a betting pool among the ladies of the Dominion regarding the future eligibility of Lord Eldigan… and more than a few willing to be his concubine. For the sake of the bloodline, of course.” 

“That didn’t go according to plan, did it?” Finn said, more to himself than to the steward. 

Sordid revelations of Agustrian court life weren’t even particularly surprising at this point. What did surprise Finn, really, was how innocent he’d remained of these details despite living in Agusty for a year with both ears open for intrigue. Lord Sigurd had indeed kept things clean in the capital. When next they had a chance to speak, Finn would have to ask Sigurd how he’d managed it.

“Oh, and Phinneas? She is the Dowager Queen now, not merely the Lady of Nordion.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

-x-

Lachesis insisted on spending that morning at Eldigan’s side because the business of being queen and preparing for her coronation was becoming too exciting and she’d wanted to plant herself firmly in the reality that her sudden queenship hinged upon her brother being _dead_. And yet, today’s vigil felt a little like the days at the end of her true childhood when she’d played with her dolls and wooden horses without the same spark of feeling that had once given life to her play. She was done crying, at least for the time. Flinging herself at the catafalque didn’t feel natural. Mourning had become, in a shockingly brief span of time… dull.

So it was that she was on her feet and perfectly calm, contemplating the red gems in an old jeweled pomander she’d hung at her belt that morning, when Finn came to tell her that they’d gotten Ares safety within the walls of Silvail. 

“Already? Well, I’m going to see him.”

“Good. He’s upset beyond words right now, so the presence of his auntie should console him.”

At that Lachesis blinked and looked over her shoulder at Finn to make sure he wasn’t poking fun at her for having an outsized view of her influence over and importance to her nephew. But no, he seemed to have meant it as unvarnished fact.

“You say things that one might easily take the wrong way, particularly if one is attuned to… duplicity. That’s not a good habit to be in if one is going to be a king. Especially not around here.”

“I see,” he replied, his voice so flat she didn’t know if Finn did see her point or not. “That reminds me. This might be the time to place King Eldigan’s last letter in the hands of his son.”

“Yes, of course.” She slipped the letter into her gown; just brushing her fingertips over the forged wax seal made something uneasy stir within her. _Duplicity._

As Lachesis walked away with hurried steps, she took up the pomander again and grasped it until the gems left imprints on her palm. She dug her thumb into the ball and one gem popped off and went rattling across the stones of the corridor. It wasn’t worth looking for, so she continued on her path toward Ares.

-x-

My Dearest Friend,

King Eldigan has now been laid to rest in the grandest and most sombre spectacle the resources of Silvail allowed us. He was conveyed to the tomb by an honor guard composed of three Crown Princes (including ~~our~~ your own Lord Quan) and myself. Prince Ares consented to be carried in the arms of Princess Ethlyn for the procession; he made a pretty salute to the coffin with more grace than one expects of a child of three. I must say for all that, every eye was upon Lachesis as she trailed the coffin in the robes of a queen in full mourning. Eldigan’s widow could not attend the ceremony on account of her health and while her absence was remarked upon I don’t think I can say it was missed.

The coronation is set for tomorrow, so I will be, in a sense, a different man when next I write you.

Ever Yours,  
Finn (Lord of the Dominion of Agustria, by right of his wife)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lewyn in this got a tweak from some of the dialogue of his Heroes incarnation. He is very much pre-Forseti-ownership Lewyn here.


End file.
